


Peer consultation

by emmadelosnardos



Series: Peer consultation [1]
Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen, the birds and the bees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6321934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmadelosnardos/pseuds/emmadelosnardos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Green asks Nurse Mary for The Talk. A most enlightening discussion follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peer consultation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MercuryGray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryGray/gifts).



> Because Emma's innocence is so charming, and Mary's frankness is so refreshing. And because there's not enough female friendship represented in fandom, and this one has so much potential.
> 
> My thanks to MercuryGray for the prompt and the discussion that followed.
> 
> Set in a different universe than "Valvèd Voice."

Mary Phinney was assisting Matron Brannan in her inventory of the supply room when they were abruptly joined by Miss Green, flushed in the face and breathing heavily.

“Nurse Mary—” Emma began, and then paused when she noticed the Matron in the room.

“Yes, Nurse Green?” Mary asked, turning away from the shelf of chloroform.

“If you have a minute – when you have a minute – may we speak privately?” Mary raised an eyebrow.

“Of course. Give me half an hour, and meet me outside my room?”

“Thank you,” Emma said with some relief as she turned to leave.

Matron Brannan looked at Miss Phinney. “I wonder what that was all about,” she said in her lilting brogue. She sighed. “No matter, I reckon it was you alone that Miss Green was wanting to talk to.” She paused. “It’s good to see the two of you working together at last.”

Mary cocked her head. “We’ve always worked together,” she answered.

“Not saying you haven’t. Just saying it’s good, that’s all,” Brannan responded.

But it was rather a mystery to Mary as well. She and Emma had not spoken alone since that rare moment when she had served her tea, and she had rather missed the younger woman’s confidences.

True to her word, Emma was waiting outside of Mary’s room when she finished with the inventory. Mary invited her in and Emma moved to take a seat in the hard wooden chair while Mary sat on the bed.

“How can I help you, Nurse Green?” she asked. Emma blushed.

“I wish you would call me Emma,” she answered.

“Very well. Emma, then. And you may call me Mary.” She smiled in an effort to reassure the girl. “Now, what is this about?”

“I have a question regarding the pr--- the women we are treating at Mansion House,” Emma began.

“Do you object to our treating them here?” Mary drew herself up stiffly.

“No – not at all,” Emma said. “It’s only – it’s one thing to give water and comfort to the boys. That I feel I can do, and some real nursing besides. But with the women, I -- I feel myself quite unprepared to provide them with any sort of useful care.”

“You need merely to speak courteously to them, as you do with all patients, Emma,” Mary said gently. “They are, after all, women like ourselves, though their lives have been much more troubled than our own.” Emma twisted her hands in her lap. “But was there something in particular? Did one of them upset you?”

“No,” Emma said slowly. “I wouldn’t say that. I only – I only wanted to know more about their problems, so that I can better care for them. And I admit that I often don’t know what they are referring to when they describe their ailments to me, or the cause of them. I thought that, as you were married once, you might enlighten me?” Her voice nearly dropped to a whisper.

“Right, then,” Mary responded, sitting bolt upright, taken aback by the request despite her attempt to maintain her poise. “I – of course. Where shall we begin?”

Emma took pity on her and smiled shyly. “I think you might begin by telling me why some of them are complaining of sores.”

“That would be the syphilis,” Mary began quickly. “It leaves sores in the genital region.”

Emma blushed. “I know that,” she said, “but I don’t think that’s what they were referring to. At least, not all of them.”

Mary’s interest was piqued. “Sores? What other kinds of sores, then?”

Emma took a deep breath. “One of them told me that she – she has to perform her work many times a day, sometimes several dozen times, and…” she trailed off, too ashamed to continue.

Mary understood. “And the repetition has made her sore. Quite understandably.” She glanced at Emma. “And you wish to know why? Or how?”

“Yes,” Emma said firmly. “I wish to know why, and how. If you would be so good as to tell me.”

Mary looked at her sharply. “How old are you, Emma?”

“Nineteen,” Emma said demurely. “I know I am young, Nurse Mary, but – please, I wish to know. As a nurse and as a – as a woman.”

“Very well,” Mary said briskly. “You shall know all you want to know. Now, to begin with, can you give me some idea of what notions you already have of the prostitutes’ work?”

“Why, they lie with men!” Emma exclaimed. “Men who are not their husbands, in exchange for money or other favors.”

“Yes, but – but to speak frankly, Emma – what do you mean by ‘lie’? In your best clinical language, if you can.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Why, they let men touch them…be with them – between their legs….?” Her voice trailed off and she looked pleadingly at Mary.

“Indeed, that is as good a place as any to begin.”

“My mother says—”

“What does your mother say?”

“That it is sinful what they do, but that she understands their plight. They have not the advantages we have.”

“So your mother is sympathetic to them. And what else has she told you?”

“Nothing else. Well, she has told me that I am never to be with a man alone, unaccompanied, and must certainly not let him touch me, or I may get with child. But – I have been with Frank, my beau, and we have kissed and embraced together when we were alone, and I do not think that is what she means, though she would be very angry to know of that.”

“I will not speak of any of this to your mother,” Mary said. “Remember, we are speaking of clinical care, not of your own experiences. But—” she smiled, “rest assured you will never get with child if all you do is kiss a man.” She glanced sharply at Emma. “In for a pound, then. You want to know what women and men do that gets a woman with child?”

“Yes, I want to know,” Emma said firmly. “I don't have a very clear idea of what it entails.” Mary contemplated the younger nurse. How very young she was, and how very innocent! She supposed that Emma had not even had the education she had had, growing up on a farm and seeing how livestock were bred; no, in her sheltered Southern upbringing, she was certain to have never seen the things that Mary had seen, and nor did she have, as Mary had had, a worldly older sister who could pass on her knowledge to her.

“I will assume you are familiar with human anatomy, male and female?” Emma nodded. “Then you know that a woman’s part is called a vagina, and connects inside to her womb, where a child may grow. And a man’s part is called—”

“A penis,” Emma said boldly. “Or a phallus, in Latin.”

“A penis, phallus – yes.” Mary took the plunge. “And by many other names as well. What of the horn, the cock, the dick, the devil? A bit of stiff, the pee-wee, the radish, the plough, the rod –”

“Stop!” Emma cried. “You are making me laugh too hard. I will have to loosen my stays.” And then the two of them were laughing together, and the tension had passed.

“Any more to add?” Mary asked between chuckles.

“I can’t—” Emma said. “I don’t – all right, then.” She laughed nervously, then recited, “The johnson, the william, the brush, the one-eyed rattlesnake –” Mary raised an eyebrow, “—the chitterling, the pike, the dingle-dangle!”

“Enough!” Mary said, wiping away some tears. “I think we’ve gone beyond the clinical at this point. The one-eyed snake?”

“My brother taught me that one,” Emma admitted.

“Your  _brother_?” Mary repeated in disbelief.

“I asked him what it meant and he told me,” Emma explained. Mary laughed again, then reminded herself that this was supposed to be a clinical lesson.

“You will have seen some of our male patients nude, I expect,” Mary stated. “It can’t be avoided, in a hospital.”

“Yes, I have assisted at several surgeries of – of the upper leg.”

“The upper leg?” Mary was surprised to hear of this. She had supposed that Emma, as an unmarried woman, had been barred from attending such surgeries.

“Yes, the upper leg and the groin. It – there were no male orderlies to be had.”

“Who was the surgeon?”

“Doctor Hale,” Emma hiccupped.

“Of course it was Doctor Hale.” Mary shook her head and covered her face with one hand.

“Doctor Foster won’t let me assist at those kinds of surgeries,” Emma said as way of explanation.

“As well he shouldn’t. Was Miss Hastings or myself unavailable that day?”

“That’s what Doctor Hale said.”

“I wonder,” Mary mused. “Well, then, the awkward part is over with, I expect. You appear  _quite_  well acquainted with the male organ—”

“Hardly!” Emma protested. “But I can’t help but notice it. It’s so different from a woman’s, so strange and silly-looking, just dangling out there.”

Mary laughed again, then grew quite serious. “And that, dear Emma, is what will get you with child. If a man puts his part between your legs – no, I must be more precise or you won’t know what I mean – if a man puts that part  _inside_ you, inside your vagina, and if he spends within you, then you  _may_ get pregnant. But not always.”

“Must he really put it up there?” Emma asked. “What an odd thing to have between my legs. You wouldn’t think it would fit.” But she was looking coy, as if she rather liked the idea.

“No, you wouldn’t think it would fit, except that the woman’s part can become quite loose and slick while they – while they join. And it helps that, in order for the man’s part to enter, he first becomes very…excited – that is, firm and stiff. Then it will go in easily enough. And then he will move in and out of the woman, exciting them both further, until he spends himself – releases his seed inside of her. And that seed can travel up to her womb and join with her equivalent, and form a child.”

“So how do the prostitutes avoid getting with child, if they are doing this so frequently?” Emma asked.

Mary pondered her question. “There are ways. The man can withdraw before he spends, and I imagine that is what most of them do. Or the lady can make him spend with pressure from her hand, and he need not be inside her at all. Or he can simply rub himself between her legs, without entering her. There are a hundred variations. And then there are other means – a sheath can be made to cover the man’s penis, so that he will spend into that rather than in the woman. She can use a womb veil, inside of her, to prevent his seed from entering her. Or she can wash herself out afterwards, though that method is not very reliable.”

“And the soreness?” Emma asked. “The prostitutes’ complaint?”

“I imagine,” Mary said slowly, “though we would have to ask them to be certain – and I believe we must do so, if this problem of theirs is to be treated – that that comes of those poor women having to perform the act so many times a day. You can well imagine the strain it would put on their own parts: so much movement and friction, and so often. And likely they are not enjoying it very much, nor are their partners paying much attention to their needs.”

Emma sighed and stared. “Is there anything that can be done for them?”

Mary considered. “I suppose – the only thing that comes to mind is to find them a sort of, well,  _nether balm_ , for lack of a better word.” Emma looked at her blankly. “Or I suppose udder balm would do just as well,” Mary suggested. “Like what farmers use on cow’s udders, to keep them soft and supple when the calves have been at them for months. But for these women’s own parts. Before and after they perform their work.”

Emma’s mouth pursed into a tight O. “I had no idea,” she said faintly.

“I think that will be the very thing for their troubles,” Mary said firmly, “if we can only get our hands on sufficient quantity here at the hospital, without attracting too much attention to it. Would you have any idea where to find some in Alexandria?”

“I must admit,” Emma said, “to total ignorance concerning udder balm and other such salves.” She sat still on her chair, reflecting. “Must it always be so hard for women, Nurse Mary? Must we always be put upon by men, always pursued and pawed at?”

Mary looked gently at her. “No, Emma,” she said. “No, it need not always be so for women, though indeed it is the case for a great many.” She grew somber and somewhat melancholy. “But a still other women enjoy the act, and enjoy the God-given pleasure of their bodies – granted they find a solicitous partner.”

“Of which there appear to be few _!_ ” Emma pronounced. “Else why should so many men resort to seeking out prostitutes, and not wives?”

Mary shook her head. “Many of these men  _have_  wives, Emma,” she pointed out. “Yet they are far from home, and lonely, and—”

“That is no excuse!” Emma retorted.

“I did not say it as an excuse, but rather as an explanation,” Mary said tersely. “I do not condone their behavior, but I  _do_  understand it. Which is what we must do, if we are to care for them –  _all_ of them – soldier and prostitute alike. We must understand them.” They sat in silence for a half minute, then Mary continued, more gently. “Does that answer your question, Emma?”

“I think so,” Emma said, “at least the original question. But now I have so many more!”

“If I am not mistaken, there are some volumes on obstetrics in Doctor Summers’ library,” Mary said. “But he might find it an odd request if we asked for them. I suppose I can tell him that one of the prostitutes thinks she is pregnant, though that may cause further problems for the poor girls. If we could get our hands on one, then you might be able to answer more of your questions. Would that suit?”

Emma looked disappointed. “It might,” she admitted reluctantly, “though I would much rather not call attention to ourselves by asking Summers for that book. And it’s so much easier to just ask you the questions I have, if you are willing.”

Mary looked at her and said, quite frankly, “I can see the advantage, for a young girl, of being able to confide in someone more – more experienced, as it were. Very well, we can continue the lesson, but I will have to put you off for another day. We should go back to the wards. And, Emma?” She paused. “Not a word of this to anyone else. I wouldn’t want your mother or father to think you were being corrupted by your work at the Hospital.”

“I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone,” Emma whispered. “I swear. Thank you, Nurse Mary, this has been most – most enlightening.”

They both rose and Mary showed her to the door, watching Emma step away down the long hallway before the turned to look back, fleetingly, at the photograph on her side table.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I found this reference to be immensely helpful (and hilarious): 
> 
> http://timeglider.com/timeline/194b572e19fd461b
> 
> I am open to continuing this story if there is sufficient interest (and perhaps other prompts for future anatomy lessons?).


End file.
